


It's Always the Fluffy Ones

by StarWarsSyl



Series: Short Stories [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic
Genre: ExplorCorps, Exploration Corps, Gen, Humor, Some Peril From Squeaktoy Animals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 16:38:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14937984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarWarsSyl/pseuds/StarWarsSyl
Summary: Exploring new planets isn't a safe job. Sometimes it leads to more perilous discoveries than others.





	It's Always the Fluffy Ones

 

Eegan filled her lungs with the clean, spicy air of a planet that as yet had no name, simply a number on a starchart. The ground felt springy beneath her feet, and the cold morning tingled in her horns.

“Those are curious. Fluffy. Small.”

The zabrak turned in minor alarm to see her companion, Merse. His hair was as perfect as always, in a death hawk today. Eegan's attention shifted to the ground where large-eyed, large-pawed, furry creatures sat watching them. Very small. Her human friend could probably cup two in one of his hands.

“I'd stay back, Merse. The fluffy ones are often the ones that get you.”

The man grunted, liner-rimmed eyes narrowing in skepticism.

If he traveled with her long enough, explored enough new, untouched worlds...

He'd learn.

 

* * *

 

Two hours later both clung to tree branches three meters from the ground as the adorable pet-wannabes spewed venom at them, the spit arcing up perilously close despite the little wretches never leaving the ground.

“I swear, if I get out of this, I'm getting the old band back together again,” Merse growled, “and I'm going to write a song about these cursed things.”

Eegan peered up at the branches above, wondering if any of them could hold her weight. If she reached the top of the tree and waved her arms, would TR333-6— still with the ship— see her and come pick them up?

“You going to call it  _ Death in a Cute Package _ ?” Eegan asked.

Merse sagged against the tree trunk. “No— that's a band, and they're Death Durasteel, not Diaev.”

“Trust you to give a music lesson while we're facing immanent death-by-squeak-toys.”

The smile that curved the black-stained lips suggested Merse might actually have taken that as a compliment instead of fond astonishment.

“Well, if we get out of here alive, I'll go to one of your concerts to listen to the song. And I won't even wear a Heavy Durasteel band shirt while I'm there.”

“I don't have anything  _ against  _ Steelheads, but make sure you only wear a shirt of a band you actually  _ know.  _ Because—”

The rest of his suggestion was drowned out by a chorus of deafening squeaking from below.

“We are  _ not  _ going to die here!” Eegan yelled over the cacophony.

Mainly because if they did, she would never hear the end of it.

 

 


End file.
